


Blinder

by MistoffLikeKristoff



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Peaky Blinders Fusion, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26054482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistoffLikeKristoff/pseuds/MistoffLikeKristoff
Summary: If Deuteronomy's boys come round, you hand them a coin to thank them for their protection.Very loosely inspired by Peaky Blinders.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating and tags may change as the story progresses; thank you for your patience!

_Prologue_

Tugger hadn't gone off to war as the older brothers had. Only thirteen, he was too lanky, too obvious for even the most gullible (or desperate) of recruiters. So he stayed behind with their father Deuteronomy, keeping the town's spirits up, sweeping the same spot on the porch every day for an excuse to be outside and chat up the passerby.

He was jealous, of course. Macavity and Munkustrap were going to kill a bunch of faceless enemies and come home heroes. He mourned his own youth and his missed opportunity. If only he were a little older! There could never be another war as grand as this one, and he would never get such a plum opportunity to prove his strength on the world stage. He bemoaned his fate to many a village girl, kicking and punching at imaginary enemy soldiers on the stoop: his broom, a rifle or a sword.

When the war ended, and his brothers returned, changed, Tugger saw a glimpse of the true face of war, and never spoke of his fantasies again.


	2. Chapter 2

Old Deuteronomy had three sons and a daughter. They were all his treasures, and the whole town knew them on sight. "If Deut's boys come round, you hand them a coin to thank them for their protection." Deut's boys kept the ruffians out.

They were the better of a set of bad options.

Macavity was the eldest, and the least predictable. His shock of red hair never stayed slicked down, and despite his family’s best efforts, his suits always looked just a bit rumpled. He had a hair trigger that got the family into as many binds as out of them. One moment, suave and affable-- the next, violent, unhinged. His time in the trenches only deepened his swings, with higher highs and much lower, savage lows. He would disappear sometimes, for a day or more, returning with blood spatter on his shirt collar and a smug grin-- no explanations and certainly no apologies.

Munkustrap was second born, only now crossing 20 years old, but wore authority as though it was his birthright. Anyone asked about Munkustrap would speak to his height, his presence, and the set line of his jaw. He’d left for war with hair that was chocolate brown and cheeks that warmed when he grinned. He returned completely grey, and smiles were an increasingly uncommon sight. It suited him, as a man who always seemed older than his years. It became hard to imagine him otherwise; the ladies about the town would sigh and wish that _“handsome lad”_ could settle down with one of their daughters, but they might as well wish for the moon on a serving platter. His only priority was protecting the family.

Jemima was Deut’s only daughter and his shining pearl. She was prim and demure and an elegant young lady-- unless you crossed the family, and her claws came out. Jemima was vocal about her distaste for the societal constraints of growing up a girl, and often donned trousers and tucked her long auburn hair into a men’s cap to go roughhouse with the boys. But just as often, she would put on a pretty white dress and cloche and attend luncheons and garden parties, and absorb all the gossip she could. She savored that part of her role as well. Munk called her his little princess, and she kept him well supplied in information.

Tugger was the trickster, a tough kid who’d crack a joke while threatening a rival gang or an unruly townie. He liked to spike his hair with pomade and dressed to impress. He was shrewd, he knew that his family had power, and he knew how to exploit it-- even if he had to learn the same lesson many times, and some he refused to ever learn. 

Deuteronomy’s business was solidly established long before his children joined the empire. But his influence became more ingrained, more insidious, as each child came of age. Besides the four, Deut had carefully selected numerous associates who kept the town safe, in exchange for just a little token of gratitude. Pass Cassandra a few tins of tobacco (one with some bills inside, of course) and she’d station gents on the street outside your shop so no one would hassle you. For a case of gin, Alonzo would spread the word that you were under Deuteronomy’s care. A few coins in Mungojerrie’s palm meant a shiny black car would pass by regularly and keep a watchful eye on things on your block.

Deny them these small acts of gratitude? Well, then Deuteronomy couldn’t possibly be held responsible for what might happen.


	3. Chapter 3

“Get in the car, we’re headed to the docks,” Munkustrap told his brothers, checking his pocket watch as he briskly strode through the parlor.

Jemima, seated at the card table surrounded by ledgers, rolled her eyes. “Some ‘boys only’ business again? That’s the third time this week.”

Munkustrap touched her shoulder with the affection he reserved only for her. “This one is really boring, Jemima, I promise. Just supervising a shipment arriving.”

“What kind of shipment?”, Tugger asked, as he tossed the toothpick he had been worrying between his teeth into a bin. 

Munk sharply nodded towards the car. Tugger took the hint, for once-- no chatter where an unwelcome ear might pick something up, and there could be a visitor in the front rooms who’d love a morsel or two of information about what the Jellicles were up to. “Don’t worry, Jemmy, we’ll bring you back a sweet treat,” Tugger winked at her.

Jemima pursed her lips. “I want Marrons glacés!”

“What the fuck is a ‘melonbrassy’?” Tugger narrowed his eyes at her request.

“It’s a candied chestnut, which you’d know if you studied your French,” Macavity dryly informed Tugger as he clipped his pistol in his underarm holster, making only a perfunctory attempt to disguise the extra weight bunching under his armpit.

Tugger puffed himself up, scoffing “the only French I pay attention to are pretty French girls!”, as he tucked his own sidearm into his pants waistband.

Macavity laughed at him, and promised Jemima all the chestnuts she desired as both brothers were herded into the car by Munk.

Tugger slid into the passenger seat of the black Napier, while Macavity balanced on the footboard outside the car door. Macavity reacted tensely to the interior of the car; the confining black metal frame made him uneasy, but clinging dangerously to the side with the breeze on his face and a pistol easily accessible? That was the perfect fit.

Munkustrap pulled his flat cap down a little farther on his forehead, compulsively confirming the razor blade hidden at the brim, before taking the car west towards the canal, along worn cobblestones that transitioned to mud alleys.

A few minutes into the drive through winding streets, Tugger asked his question again. “Munk, what’s the payload?”

Munkustrap kept his gaze leveled at the road. “An envelope. Dad’s business.”

Tugger sank back in his seat, visibly annoyed. “Damn, Munk, that IS boring.”

“Did you think we’d be hauling whisky in the middle of the day?”, Munk replied flatly. Macavity gave a long laugh and smacked Tugger on the ear, just a bit too hard to be playful. Tugger winced and smacked him back.

Munk gave them both a withering glare as the car rounded the final turn. The humid air and the lingering scent of fish and oil hit him in the face. He was already mentally ticking off the other tasks to complete-- checking in with Cassandra and her crew, making sure the coppers were happy, deliveries for Deuteronomy, buying some treats for Jemima and also knocking some sense into that Pounce boy who kept trying to chat her up-- as he made eye contact with his man on the dock.

Skimbleshanks nodded in acknowledgment as he finished tying off a small barge laden with barrels. Munk and Tugger left the car and headed towards him.

Macavity hung back, as he would often do, taking stock of the situation, observing and being observed, assessing threats. He preferred having the high ground. 

Skimble and Munk embraced briefly; Munkustrap knew to avoid Skimble’s left arm, where the bullet had grazed him two years ago and still caused him pain sometimes. “It’s good to see you, you look well,” Munk said.

“Good to be seen,” Skimble responded with a half smile. “There’s news from the north, I’ll stop by and fill you in soon.”

"I always appreciate your loyalty. You are welcome anytime."

"How is Jemima? I feel like I haven't seen her in weeks."

Tugger bounced on his heels impatiently. “You got that thing we’re here for?”, he asked, too directly, but Tugger was never one for subtlety.

Munk and Skimble shot him matching flat looks, and half-stifled equally exasperated sighs. 

“Take a look, boys,” a man's loud voice from the alley interrupted, “it’s the Jellicles, out where they don’t belong.”

Munkustrap’s shoulders tightened. He recognized this unwelcome intrusion. The Maudling gang wasn’t supposed to be here today. “It is commonly known that the pier is neutral territory, gentlemen,” he said as he adjusted his cap reflexively.

Five Maudlings were headed for Munk and Tugger, and were unmistakably looking for trouble. Two carried bats, one a pipe. “How indiscreet,” Skimble muttered.

But the Maudlings had not spotted Macavity, lingering in the shadows of the dockside factory. This had been the fatal mistake of more than one rival family, and Macavity relished the chance to let off a little steam. His white teeth flashed in the dark as he made the first move.


End file.
